


Then we were one.

by Alexander_Slamilton



Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - Ballet, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ballet dancer!R, Based on Sergei Polunin's take me to church video, M/M, cellist!enjy, dancer!R
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-05
Packaged: 2018-09-28 12:02:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,009
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10099718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alexander_Slamilton/pseuds/Alexander_Slamilton
Summary: "Grantaire danced as if on air, as though gravity could not hold him down, like a bird set free from the cage he jumped and twisted, and leaped. All at once he was languid and electric, relaxed and yet rigid all in the same instance. He was not the Grantaire Enjolras knew, he was an avenging angel, death and life in the same breath. "Basically I remembered that Sergei Polunin and his dance to Take Me to Church by Hozier existed and need to write it. (Here's the video https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=c-tW0CkvdDI, to completely get the fic you'll need to watch it.)





	

Enjolras didn't mean to walk into the room, he didn’t, it was just that they were using the room next and from the door it had looked like it was empty. He felt awkward standing in the doorway with his mouth open, like he had walked in on something private; intimate. He cursed the tiny window, a gap in the door not big enough to see the whole of the room; really Grantaire should be practising in the sports centre not the student union. The tables lined the edges of the room, they’d clearly been pushed out of the way; a ballet bar had been set up on one side, by the windows. One side of the room was lined with mirrors, Enjolras remembered back to his first year when the new sports centre hadn't been built.  He was still standing in the doorway, watching Grantaire and feeling more and more awkward as the seconds ticked by.

 

Grantaire was in the middle of the room; a song was playing on a boom box in the corner, a male voice coming through the speakers. Grantaire is dancing. Enjolras thought that that was far too simple a statement for Grantaire is doing. In that moment, Grantaire was transformed in Enjolras’s eyes, he was no longer the cynical art student in the back of the room, but, rather an embodiment of movement and fluidity. He noticed several things, the way the light plays off the lines and curves of Grantaire’s body; the graceful, easy way he flings himself about the room. Enjolras knew that feeling; he found it in the way his bow would dance up and down the strings of his cello. Grantaire was seemingly absorbed in the movement; his eyes were closed as he settled down on his knees. The song started again, he must have placed it on a loop; Enjolras knew that this would be the time to either announce his presence or leave Grantaire alone. He didn’t.

 

The sun streamed through the windows in white beams; the ballet bar casting a dark black shadow on the floor. Grantaire knelt in the left hand corner of the room, pulsing almost to the first beats of the song, his eyes were still closed. Then he moved, and shadows were cast in the hollows between his muscles, his face mastering both effortless peace and overwhelming emotion. He reached upwards as though trying to claw his way to heaven, his fingers grasping at thin air. His belly rising and falling as he breathed in great lungfuls of air, Enjolras wondered if he would ever be compelled to look away from this; he knew somewhere in the back of his mind, that he would have this burnt into his retinas. Then Grantaire launched himself in to the air, he;d done it from lying down, and he got to at least Enjolras’s shoulders, and if Enjolras was in love with Grantaire before, he was even more so then.

 

Enjolras watched as Grantaire launched himself to his feet in a move that resembled a cartwheel, pushing himself over his shoulder. Then, he was on his feet, though he wasn't in the usual slouched position, his shoulders were pushed back and he walked like Enjolras imagined an angel would walk; in a movement so blindingly quick, Enjolras was almost convinced he’d imagined it, R was in the air. The muscles in his leg taught and straight, the lines it created sent Enjolras’s brain into overdrive. Grantaire’s skin was flushed pink; sweat was rolling down his shoulders, Enjolras could see it as Grantaire landed not five feet from him. His eyes were open now, his mouth parted and his cheeks were rapidly flushing red. Enjolras felt his own face heating as Grantaire looked at him; he was suddenly aware that all Grantaire was wearing was a pair of nude coloured ballet trousers, that really left little to the imagination. Enjolras resisted the temptation to run his eyes down Grantaire’s body, forcing himself instead to look at a spot just above R’s left shoulder.

 

“I should-“ Enjolras made to back out of the room.

 

“You can-“ Grantaire said at the same time, stepping forward and gesturing to one of the seats, “you can stay if you want.”

 

“What?” Enjolras paused, looking at Grantaire like he’d lost his mind.

 

“I mean it’s, what, ten minutes before the meeting; it seems cruel to shove you out of here; besides I could use the practice in front of an audience,” R smiled, ducking his head, as he gestured around the room.

 

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Enjolras hesitated a little before sitting down on the chair and falling in love with Grantaire all over again.

 

Grantaire danced as if on air, as though gravity could not hold him down, like a bird set free from the cage he jumped and twisted, and leaped. All at once he was languid and electric, relaxed and yet rigid all in the same instance. He was not the Grantaire Enjolras knew, he was an avenging angel, death and life in the same breath. Enjolras felt the air leave his lungs, as emotion swirled with in him; a tidal wave threatening to break through him and consume the room. He wanted to pull Grantaire to him and push him away as well. Heat rose in the rooms much so that Enjolras could barely breath. Before he knew it, Grantaire had stopped, he was staring at Enjolras; his blue eyes almost entirely hidden by the black void of his iris.

 

“Enjolras,” he whispered, “Enjolras.”

  
Enjolras was done with dancing; he was done with moving about Grantaire, scared to frighten him away. He rose from the chair, letting his gut guide his movements, he came to a halt about three inches from R, letting him close the distance between them. Grantaire took the hint, his hands entwining themselves in Enjolras’s hair and his lips sliding onto Enjolras’s; warm and dry and charged with want. They moved together as one, letting the rhythm overcome them and carry them away.

**Author's Note:**

> Yup. I'm now officially ExR trash. Forgive me. Kudos and comments keep me writing and are greatly appreciated!!! Thanks for reading!


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